Left with a stick to hold in his hand..The old man frets on the floor..Struggling to see through the window..It's a chamber of dreamwith its fright be..
A silent stroll through the streets of lust...The barking hounds pounce on a corpse...A shower of desire sweeps this dirt..And I wander around to find..
Mystic cobweb,Purple blossoms,Dew beads on tender grass-lets,One picturesque fountain,Twinkling of merry stars in one dark firmament,Scintillating moo..
One surreal portrayal of my anti-self...a venture to depict a universe manifesting...something opposed to my self believing in the confluence of all p..